Augustus, first of his name
by tonytheoneguy
Summary: After been throwned in another body, Octaian has a chance to become a more powerful man than he ever thought possible.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Game of Thrones and any of the characters starring in it, as many of you may have guessed. The original idea for this story came from Hotpoint's **"HBO WI: Joffrey from Game of Thrones replaced with Octavian from Rome"** which he abandoned in 2016. If you want to know what's happening, read it, it's one of the best.

But summarizing: Stannis is going to be sent to the wall and Octavian ordered for his family to be brought to King's Landing… and Varys suspects his true identity.

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_"I once struck the prince heir, he was nothing short of a vicious child, but I never laid a hand over the emperor of the world."_ \- **The Wisdom and Wits of Tyrion Lannister.**

King's Landing - 298 AL

Octavian had a black cloak covering his face wholly, and a biology book he brought from maester Pycelle's own shelf to read away the waiting in the royal port for his guests from Dragonstone. Many people passed by at that hour of the day, half of them wanted a peek of the caped man's face, and all were scared away by Sandor Clegane' nasty grimace.

"They're fucking late." snarled Gregor.

It was a rather sunny day, which made his protector even more stiffened as he held guard behind him, but Octavian seemed to care little as he perused every diminutive detail of his lecture. The westerosi had a vast knowledge of the human body, even more, than Romans do, he decided as pages of information flooded his mind and fulfilled his curiosity.

A small child, no more than nine, of sandy, blond hair, approached the young prince carrying a letter with a she-wolf feeding two human babes stamped on the front. Sandor reached for his sword, but Octavian ordered him down as he took the small hands of the child between his, altogether with the letter. He nodded approvingly, and a smile broadened across the boy's face as he took for leaving.

He reached for his back pocket and shoved the letter in; he would read his content in a later time and in solitude, where no spider's web hung.

"There are safest places to fulfill your kind of likes that aren't the streets, Your Grace," said Clegane.

"I wouldn't do that to my wife-to-be." he replied, "It is quite strange to see you speak to me in such freedom, Ser Clegane."

"I was just speaking my mind, Your Grace," explained the burned man, taking back his guarding stance. Sandor had something about himself today, Octavian didn't know how to put it, but his escort had a word-choice that sometimes reminded him awfully of Titus Pullo; he often spoke bluntly and without regard for the proper.

Octavian just smirked, and at the same time, he noted that a company of ships approached from the horizon like grey spots loosening from the sun. The sails and banners of the ships had the signature to the Greyjoy house embroidered in them. His guest had arrived and Octavian stood to greet them in person, Ser Clegane following close behind.

From the main boat, a group of three women disembarked: a woman and a greyscale touched girl were the first; Stannis Baratheon's wife and daughter, inquired Octavian as they were holding hands, though hesitantly by the child's part. The third one was Yara Greyjoy who was still shouting orders to her men. A spirited woman, just like Arya Stark, decided.

Octavian slipped his cloak until it was low on his neck and his face could be seen, "My ladies, I've been expecting you. I hope you traveled without much mayhap." he greeted them with cordiality.

Stannis wife, whose name is Sylese Florent if he well remembered, folded herself to a complete bow, forcing her daughter down with her. "Your Grace, it is an honor having you receive us into your home," said the older woman looking down, averting her eyes from Octavian's "Our travel from Dragonstone came without any hardships."

"It gladdens me to know that, now come, I'll show you your bedchambers."

Octavian took them both through the crowded streets of Kings Landing, his face covered once again by his cloak. Lady Florent tried to make conversation by thanking him of his mercy, by sparing her and her daughter the grief of seeing Stannis beheaded. Little lady Shireen kept herself back with Yara, away from his mother, but once in a while gazed upon the supposed king. The girl looked unhappy, Octavian decided, and unhappy children make bitter adults - just like his surrogate mother, Cersei. He had to keep the little child happy, maybe a meeting with his future wife sister's would do the desired effect.

Already settled his guests, Octavian headed for the Small council chamber. He sat alone in the candlelit room, no one would interrupt him there - no little birdies or pry spider. He reached for his back pocket and pulled the letter. The stamp meant to represent Luperca feeding Romulus and Remus; something westerosi men or spies wouldn't understand. The content was codified in Latin, for he himself gave the codes to a person of trust if the following happened: someone was conspiring against him.

Octavian opened the letter to find confirmation. It read: Et erit aranea telam texit quam in captionem relinques vilico. Dum sol lucebit excaecare fit cervo - Varys has been plotting against him apparently, together with Prince Oberyn Martell. He understood why the prince of Dorne might want him out of the line of succession - and all with Lannister blood for that matter - but Varys was an altogether completely different song. Even Octavian in all his ability had trouble seeing through his exterior motives.

Did he want the throne for himself?

Had he seen through his Joffrey facade?

Was he a threat to the spider's schemes?

Many questions streamed through him, disregarding the most absurd ones as the effects of a paranoid mind and keeping the most palpable ones in his deep mind. A man such as Varys - with his particular repertory of abilities - could prove to be a fearsome opponent and a great loss of an ally. For little stories he had heard of his Master of Whispers' past, it was clear that he was a professional of self-preservation; he wouldn't do anything unless thoroughly necessary.

At least that gives me enough time to think of ways to wrap the spider with his own web, he thought as all the members of the Small council entered, each of them bowing to him, including Varys.

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Please review. Be as harsh as you need to be - all in line of constructive criticism of course. I'm here to learn off your opinions and thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thank you for the reviews and follows. And again, I don't own a pig's crap, George R. R. Martin does. The original idea for this sotry came from the author Hotpoint._**

**_Also, I uploaded the unchecked version of chapter one. I'll upload the correct one at a later dae._**

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"_History taught us that Joffrey Augustus was a man ahead of his time. The veracity of that statement is demonstrated in the long-lasting empire that he inherited all who share my blood." - _**Tywin Augustus, fifth of his name, Emperor of Westeros, Essos, and Sothoryos **(**854 After Aegon's Conquest**** / ****539 After Joffrey's Conquest****.)**

**The Red Keep - 298 AC**

There were people in the east singing about dragons and the return of the Targaryen house. Right under his nose, a spider deployed his webs over the city, covering each house and brothel and tower that stood tall and strong, but they wouldn't remain strong for as long as the spider weaved. In Sunspear, a prince with bitterness for all of those who had Lannister blood was helping the spider in his schemes. This all gathered information took form and gave Octavian an only answer: He had quite an extensive list of enemies. Even beyond the walls, the wildlings would gladly see his head mounted on a spike.

it was an inevitability, all kings had their enemies, even if he hadn't sought them out.

Now, he sat silently on the candlelit room that was the Small council's reunion spot. He analyzed each and every of the members as they disputed themes of military and economy. His mind reminding him that he should keep wariness of Varys, as he felt the letter's weight on his back pocket. It was ink and paper, but it somehow felt like he had the handle to the deadliest blade in all of Westeros.

Lord Baelish sat in front of him, giving his full report of the currency influx to the members of the Small Council, diverting their attention from the outflow in coins with his silver tongue. A less intelligent man wouldn't have noticed it, he would have been seduced by Littlefinger's cunning and intellect. But what the man had in wits he lacked in loyal men or competent ones. A weakness Octavian could - and had - exploit with ease in a required situation.

His grandfather, in all his cold and unfaced bearing, sat still and quiet, as if contemplating new plots and strategies, until it came time to intercede, "Have we found a way to get rid of the Crown's debt."

Renly Baratheon snorted, then said, "Robert dragged the crown's credibility so deep into the mud, that even the iron bank would not answer or messages."

"You exaggerate the state, Lord Renly," interjected Littlefinger, "We are friends with the wealthiest houses, they will be honored to lend us their aid," he said, directing his words to both Octavian and his surrogate grandfather.

"Borrowed money yet again." said Lord Stark, "How long until we rip the coins off commoners' hands."

Tyrion Lannister took a sip off his goblet full of wine and said, "How long? Father has skinned the money off them for many years. A Lannister always pays his debts... above everything else."

They continued to bicker about the subject for many minutes after. From where he sat, and he knew Tywin thought equally, Octavian realized that the kingdom was ruled both by drunken fools or power-hungry schemers. His uncle Tyrion and the current regent, Eddard Stark, were the only ones who seemed to pull a hair about the realm's stability. Shame was that the people's hatred and lack of trust toward his dwarf uncle had hardened his exterior and extinguished his love and care for them. And Lord Stark was an all to tired man whose only wish in life was to retire back into his home in the frost north.

It was time for the _"king"_ to put a stop to this foolishness.

"Grandfather," he muttered low, but somehow every present heard it, "I've heard tales of a rose in Highgarden, beautiful and virtuous like no other. I've also heard she is in need of a husband to unburden her of that virtue."

Tywin shifted in his seat towards him and the ghost of a smirk appeared on his lips, "A beautiful rose indeed. Daughter of one of the wealthiest and influential man in all of the seven kingdoms."

"I never took you for a botanic enthusiast, my graceful nephew," commented Tyrion in the form of a little quip.

Suddenly, Renly Baratheon stood from his chair in the middle of the table, irked, "You speak of Margery, my wife!"

Silence descended upon the room. A lyre could be heard through the stones that made up the walls of the Red Keep. Glances kept jumping from Octavian to Renly, like mountain hoppers. The tension in the air had become so palpable that it could be cut with a knife of rusty edge.

"My lords, could this council be momentarily adjourned? I need a word with my uncle."

Everyone rounded to Lord Stark expecting an answer, even Tywin Lannister, "If the king wishes so, the so it must be done." he said.

They agreed, leaving Octavian alone with his outrightly insulted uncle. A man as proud as Renly could be offended with little effort, more if his inclinations were mentioned. They were a secret to no soul, in or out of court, but still, noblemen kept their lips together, for they didn't want to lose them. But even with insults in his tongue, Octavian knew how to phrase himself carefully.

Finally, Renly opened his mouth to speak, "Are you ill, boy! You still have no power to fuck-"

"Careful, uncle," he said, his voice low and cool, "We might be amiable, but I'm still a king. A king that would do anything to save his kingdom from impending doom and humiliation."

"By dooming my name to humiliation!" spatted the older Baratheon, stepping up closer.

"You will be celebrated. Bards will write romantic lyrics of how you sacrificed the love of a beautiful woman to aid your king in need."

"You can shove the bard's lyre up your arse till you reach your throat!"

There was silence again. Renly paced around the room muttering rubbish, hands twitching. Octavian placed his arms on top of the table and brought his hands together in front of his face.

A young, inexperienced king, rumored to be a brute - that was what people believed of him. A little lion, smaller than his present imp uncle. But the way his eyes lost every shade of emotion in that very moment… Octavian noted that Renly recoiled uncomfortably, averting his glance to the side.

"Everyone is aware, Renly. Don't try to fake surprise, that just bothers me. Believe me, I don't care about people's preferences. But nobles, they are much alike rats: they will bite through flesh if they think there is delicious food hiding in the bones. If the king suggests your inclination, then that would give them enough confirmation of something they already know the answer to. They will rip you limb from limb to get in my favor."

"Y-you wouldn't," Renly stammered, "I vouched in your favor, against my own brother!"

"Stannis… a man foretold by any sane man to fail miserably, even without your support."

"But even then, you pardoned him, showed him mercy." reminded the agitated man.

"Did I really? A man of pride such as him, being sent to a life shared by thieves and assassins and rapists, all while his daughter becomes a better man's ward," he replied, cutting any way of argument.

It was true, another way wasn't possible nor it would be sought. Octavian could see how realization sunk onto Renly's face.

The man collapsed into the ground after his legs gave up to all the pressure the king had bestowed upon him. Renly collected his legs tightly to his breastplate-covered chest and began to sob aloud, enough so that Octavian had as a certainty that the members outside could hear his wailing. Nothing massed more shame inside a man's heart than another man's wail. But _it had to be done_, a phrase he knew would be repeating in his head across the years to come.

"Stand, clean your tears, the others will come in any minute now," Octavian said, alienating every sign of pity for his broken _uncle_.

Renly climbed up to his feet with all the strength that crying hadn't drained off him. He looked at Octavian, his eyes red and cheeks marked by the tears - stained by his shame, "What do you want me to do?" he sobbed.

Octavian stood up, raising himself with his hands. He strolled up to his uncle, deposited a hand on his shoulder, then said in a soothing tone, "I'm sorry for doing this, but it must be done. For the survival of the crown, you will send for Margery. No. You will go yourself; you must say each other farewell face to face for it to be a believable rupture. You will deliver her the news: she will be marrying into royalty."

"Sansa is still betrothed to you. Breaking an alliance like that will wound the bonds we have forged with the Starks - with Lord Eddard," said Renly with what little force of voice he had.

"There is still my younger brother Tommen."

"..." Renly didn't say a thing, his lips were tightened together in a thin line, fighting back another horde of tears, keeping his glance to his feet and floor.

"Now go, ask the rest in." Octavian put on his facade once again, looking as charismatic as he would have been on the loveliest of days.

"And uncle," he said, "I could have had Myrcella married to Loras," he added as closure.

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_**Please, be free to leave a constructive review.**_


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